


Camellia

by AvatarMi_Chan



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Billdip Week, M/M, Prepare the Tissues, Sad, assassin bill, cop dipper, cops and robbers, more like cops and assassin, super sad, you will cry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-24
Updated: 2016-05-24
Packaged: 2018-06-10 08:58:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6949594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AvatarMi_Chan/pseuds/AvatarMi_Chan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Is it truly better to be feared, than loved?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Camellia

**Author's Note:**

> All quotes herein are from Machiavelli's 'The Prince.  
> I suggest you listen to Amber Run's I found when your done.  
> Yeah, you have been warned.

Have you ever loved someone so much, you would rather die than let them go?

The day we met, I couldn’t have known what would become of me. A single look, a brief meeting of gazes like the snapping of two gears clicking into place. A spark of interest, a mild curiosity growing with each footstep like a low beating drum drawing you closer to me.

Like rolling thunder.

Like shuttering earth.

A small smile, flashing eyes, and I knew there was no escaping – such a natural state it seemed to be, you and I.

*****************

Some people say death is ugly.

Ugly like the color red. Ugly like the scent of rot and dust and the prospective of not knowing even as you stare head on into the face of the abyss.

Others say it’s a beautiful thing.

Like falling rain, like water against earth and grey skies and the cool kisses of hundreds of droplets of water as they prick wantonly into flesh.

Beautiful like sunsets or roses in the face of winter. Like those finite, wistful existences that hold no other significance than that they at least sound poetic.

The truth is everything dies. There’s nothing aesthetic about it. Death was just another natural state of being – at least, that’s what Bill Cipher thought.

And when you are the one with a gun, well, no other opinion really matters, does it?

Loading the final bullet into the cylinder, Bill clicked the hammer into place before running his thumb along the edge of the weapon. His reflection gazed dully back at him, all dark – dark circles, and dark eyes. The face of a man who had given up on everything.

The face of a man who was clinging to one last thing to live for.

A flicker of movement drew his eyes upward, and he found himself gazing at a portrait. The smiling face of a young man and woman stared back at him – cheeks flushed with laughter and eyes bright. Lifting his free hand, Bill brushed his fingers across the glass – caressing the side of the boy’s face with a fluttering touch – as if her were afraid the photo would vanish at his touch. His lips opened and closed in a noiseless murmur, the name escaping his lips with a sense of bitter melancholy and want that had his entire chest aching.

Then he pulled his hand back, closing his hand back around the chill surface of his weapon and getting to his feet.

It was time for him to put an end to this.

*********************

They met by chance.

Or fate.

Or destiny, if you actually believed in those sorts of things. Bill didn’t. How could you, when your job is to bring an end to such machinations. Like death, he cared not of the future and lived only for the present – for the job at hand. Man, woman, child. He was unbiased, uncaring, and apathetic as any force of destiny or god.

It was a simple job, really. In and out. The target was a young woman, an up and coming politician with her whole life ahead of her.

At least, she did until he injected her with poison on the subway and she collapsed minutes later in the middle of the station to the keen of a high pitched scream. Bill continued towards the exit, completely unnoticed amidst the chaos until he stepped into the brilliant midday sunlight. He blinked, momentarily blinded, and instinctively turned away from the bright light. When his vision cleared his eyes momentarily locked with a single hazel gaze belonging to an officer who had likely been called to the scene. It was a smart gaze, a suspicious gaze. A gaze that belonged to someone who was able to pick him out even amongst the crowed of terrified pedestrians as they flowed out around him – terrified of the killer they had no idea stood among them even now.

His lips flicked up in a small smirk, and then he drew his eyes away and disappeared once again into the backdrop of madness and fear.

How interesting…

****************

Have you ever met someone, even though you know you shouldn’t?

I don’t know where these feelings came from, though by all means they shouldn’t have come into being in the first place.

People say love is a surprise, like an unexpected gift.

Your presence exploded into my life leaving nothing but smoke and shrapnel and aching flesh in its wake.

Why me?

Why you?

These questions parade through my mind in endless circles, unanswerable.

Or maybe, I’m afraid to answer them.

Maybe, I’m afraid of what I’ll find there.

Maybe, I’m just afraid.

I’m afraid.

**********************

His name was Taylor Elliot.

He was good at his job, almost as good as Bill. There was nothing to be found on him, and tracking him down had proved to be a task of herculean proportions. Being an assassin was a job that called for extreme secrecy, an art that was perfected with time and numerous corpses along the way.

For anyone else, the task would have been impossible. The man was as traceless as carbon monoxide and just as deadly. But, when you set the entirety of your mind and efforts on a single task anything can be accomplished. And after nearly an entire year of searching Bill had finally found him.

Taylor Elliot may have been good at his job, but not nearly as good as Bill Cipher.

Humming softly, Bill passed through the sliding glass doors that lead into a large, open, and modernly furnished room. Apparently Elliot had picked up a job to kill the son of the executive head of some large cooperation. Bill had already done all the research he’d needed on the building – deducing where exactly the killing would take place. All he had to do was catch Elliot on his way out. One shot to the leg, and then he’d knock him out with chloroform. He’d found an abandoned building not far from here to bring him too, and then Bill would take his time finishing him off.

He’d kill him slowly, agonizingly. He’d make him feel every nick, every cut as he slowly and methodically ripped into his flesh

Bill Cipher would make him pay for what he’d done to Dipper.

Then, maybe, he’d finally be able to get some sleep.

**************************

Bill saw the other man a lot more often after that. Apparently he’d been put on the case.

Apparently he’d asked.

Apparently, he’d suspected all of the murders were connected.

Smart kid.

Too bad he wasn’t the only one interested in figuring someone out, and he’d caught the attentions of one of the most dangerous men in the world.

Dipper Pines was his name. Twenty-five years old, grew up in Piedmont, California with his parents and a twin sister by the name of Mable Pines. Graduated from Portland State University at the age of twenty, served in the Portland police force for two years before being transferred to New York.

And if the information in his file was anything to go by, the kid was smart.

So Bill decided to test that intelligence and started a little game with the detective in the form of coded messages filled with riddles and clues.

And Dipper Pines never failed to crack them.

Weeks turned into months, months became a year. Their little game of cat and mouse suddenly became more interesting than Bill’s job, more interesting than anything. He’d spend weeks planning elaborate plots and ploys – all in hopes of entertaining that officer. All in hopes of seeing him again.

Then Bill stated getting messages back.

Coded, left in places only he could find them, like in his meeting places with his informants, and, at one point, even at the front desk of the apartment he’d been staying in.

‘We’ll meet soon.’ It read.

That night Bill had set the place on fire, smile wide as he watched the orange flames burn away all signs he had been there but for the coded message scorched into the floor.

‘In your dreams, kid.’

And in his dreams they did meet. They met in darkness, in the quiet of the night with nothing but moonlight and shadows and heavy breathing and the feeling of warm skin against skin. Bill would awake breathless and sweaty and aching with desire to see the other man again.

Thus another game would begin.

Another five months and with the coming of summer Bill made a decision. After his next job he left behind a roundtrip ticket to Paris and an offer.

‘Le Meurice, June 30th, 9:00pm. Don’t be late.’

So, twenty-nine days later he sat alone on the balcony, sipping from a glass of wine as he gazed out over the golden city lights. He knew that this could very well be his last moment of peace, his last seconds of freedom before he would be locked away forever. He’d killed people all over the world, even here, in this city. For a killer like him, no place was safe.

Still, Bill was willing to give it all up at the chance that maybe, maybe he could finally meet the person who had been haunting his mind asleep and awake.

Bill Cipher wasn’t the type of man to give up in the face of high stakes.

And when the prize was someone like Dipper, Pines, well, he could care less for the consequences.

“It’s you.” A soft voice murmured, and Bill turned his head to see the face of his desire illuminated by the iridescent lights of the restaurant. They had never really locked gazes before, not since that first day when they met.

And oh god, was he beautiful. More beautiful than that half hidden face Bill had dreamt up – based on photos that bore none of the life of the real thing. His cheeks were freckled and flushed with blood, his coppery hair a mess of curls which lifted with the warm evening breeze. And those eyes - the only thing Bill could remember as vividly as when he first gazed upon them – left him shivering with desire.

“Long time no see, kid.” He responded easily, gesturing at the seat across from him, which Dipper took wordlessly. They sat like that, in complete silence for what seemed like ages, both staring each other down and neither speaking a word. Then, finally, Dipper pated his lips.

“I could end all this, right now you know.” He stated, voice wringing clearly above the muffled din of the restaurants interior. Bill hummed, lifting his glass and swirling the scarlet liquid therein absentmindedly.

“ ‘…there are three classes of intellects: one which comprehends by itself; another which appreciates what others comprehend; and a third which neither comprehends by itself nor by the showing of others; the first is the most excellent, the second is good, the third is useless.’ The moment I met you, I knew we were like minded, you and I. We comprehend not by the dictation of others, but through our own experience. Society sees me as a killer, as a murderer, as something less than human yet greater than any beast. Tell me, what you think of me, Dipper Pines?” The brunette paused, coking his head inquisitively, revealing an expanse of pale flesh in a manner that suggested an innocence Bill Cipher had never possessed.

But oh, did he want to. His fingers itched to knot themselves in those dark locks – to pull back until the other man was fully exposed before him – completely at his mercy.

“You are a killer. A murderer. There’s no doubt about that. I’ve seen your body count. I’ve seen the bodies.” His gaze flicked upward, meeting and holding Bill’s in a look that sent shivers down the blonde’s spine. “But you are, without doubt human. Saying anything else would make the crimes you’ve committed less damning.” His words were like fire, screeching through Bill’s veins and setting him alit. He grinned.

“So I am. And yet here you are. We are of a like mind, Dipper Pines. Society sees killing as a crime. I see it as a lucrative career. Through my position I have traveled the world, seen and done things beyond imagination. What’s more, I am merely a tool. A weapon. We do not blame the gun, we blame the shooter. It is my job to kill not my desire.” The blonde finished, lifting the bottle of Bodegas Roda Cirsion and pouring the rich scarlet liquid into a glass before pushing it towards Dipper.

“Are you suggesting you don’t enjoy your job?” The brunette chuckled, accepting the glass and taking a sip.

“There’s nothing wrong with doing what you love.” Bill smirked, pleased that he’d made the other man laugh.

“ ‘Men judge generally more by the eye than by the hand, for everyone can see and few can feel. Everyone sees what you appear to be, few really know what you are.’ “Dipper murmured, shaking his head. “Looking at you, I can’t imagine you being the assassin I’ve tracked for the last one and a half years.”

“I’m flattered. Does that by chance mean you like what you see?” The blonde responded playfully, before leaning forward and whispering into the brunette’s ear. “Because I’d be willing to show you everything, Dipper Pines, if you would return the favor.” And then Bill sat back, just as a pretty dark haired waitress walked up to their table and took their orders. Dipper spoke in broken French, apologizing repeatedly as he tripped over his words. He was brushing profusely through the whole ordeal, though whether it was from his speech or Bill’s previous statement the blonde couldn’t guess.

No matter, he found the whole situation endearing, and didn’t bother to hide it as the waitress left them once again alone.

“I swear I’ll arrest you if you keep looking at me like that.” Dipper responded, clearing his throat and refusing to meet Bill’s gaze. The blonde laughed.

“You wouldn’t.” He responded, finally earning a frustrated glance from the brunette.

“What makes you so certain?”

“The same reason I came here without a gun. ‘…he who seeks to deceive will always find someone who will allow himself to be deceived.’ Yet, between the two of us, who is the deceived and who is the deceiver?” Dipper stared at Bill, for breaking into a grin.

“So what your saying is, you think of me as your equal. You’re just afraid of what I can do to you, as I am of hat you could do to me.”

“In the words of Machiavelli, “Since love and fear can hardly exist together, if we must choose between them, it is far safer to be feared than loved. He paused, hand snaking out to brush against Dipper’s. “However, I am the type of man who likes to take chances. And from the moment I met you, ‘safe’ is a word that no longer exists in my vocabulary.”

They spent the remainder of the meal in a companionable silence, though an electric polarity seemed to be forming between them with every second that ticked by.

Once their meal as finished Bill paid and stood, turning to Dipper.

“I’m going back to my room. Care to join me?” He asked, offering the brunette his hand. The other man took it, getting to his feet and quickly pressing his lips to Bill’s in a chaste touch which quickly descended into a passionate kiss. When they finally pulled apart, Dipper chuckled lowly.

“My sister always said I should take more chances.” He muttered, shaking his head.

“I don’t expect she meant sleeping with someone like me.” Bill responded, raising an eyebrow. “I hope you managed to get all of your sightseeing done before hand, Dipper Pines, because I’ll make it so you can’t walk for the next couple of days.”

The brunette swallowed, gaze flickering down to Bill’s lips before moving upward again.

“I didn’t come here looking for tourist spots, Bill Cipher. I don’t plan on leaving that room until I have to return to the states.” Bill’s grinned widened, and he released Dipper only to take the brunette’s hand in his.

“Well then, let’s get started, shall we?”

********************

Have you ever loved someone so much you hated yourself for it?

Like a premonition, like a dream only half remembered upon waking – the moment I met you I knew you would be my end. Like dawn you graced my world with light, but all days must come to an end.

Cold is simply the absence of heat, yet when I was with you I was both frozen and burning. A feeling of emptiness – hollow as the earth – filled me even as I was filled with you.

Your laugh, your smile. Sweet words alongside cruel ones – bitter and saccharine.

I hated you, you know.

Grew to despise you.

No, that’s not right.

I grew to despise myself for loving you so.

I grew to abhor my very existence, to loathe each waking breath even as my eyes opened to your face.

Just as a man trapped in the heat of the dessert grows to detest the sun, so too did I begin to long for the peace of the night.

*********************

Bill found him on the top floor, in the large executive office standing across from the pulpy mass that had once been his target’s head splayed all across the back wall. Elliot spun, the high caliber pistol flying from his hand with a single shot from Bill. His eyes blew wide in shock at his now empty grip, before turning to the gun now pointed at the spot just between his brows.

“Who the hell are you?” He demanded lowly, meeting Bill’s gaze. The blonde shrugged at the question, easily brushing it off.

“My name doesn’t matter, just as your name doesn’t matter. We’re in the same position, you see – killers like us have no need for names.”

“Another assassin huh? What, did I beat you to the kill?” He gestured his head to the dripping remains of the now very dead executive’s son.

“No, I came for reason’s much larger than that sack of meat. You probably don’t even remember his name. So let me clarify. December 25th, one year ago, you put a bullet through the head of one Dipper Pines when he was walking home from a Christmas party with his family. It went right through the front of his head, you remember? A clean shot that had most of his brains and chunks of his skull painting the freshly fallen snow red.”

“I was the person he was walking with.”

Elliot’s expression flickered slightly, before resuming its emotionless glare.

“So what, you want revenge?” He asked numbly, and Bill laughed.

“Revenge. That’s a nice word isn’t it? It does seem to fix this situation perfectly, doesn’t it? You took something precious from me, and I’ll take something from you – your life. An eye for an eye and all that bullshit.” Bill began to stride forward, still holding his gun high. “But, you see, you are only the tool, aren’t you? The weapon. The bullet. Not the killer. No, I’m not here for revenge. My reasons aren’t as straightforward and romantic as all of that.” He stopped in front of the other man, gun pressing into the hard bone of his skull. “I’m just here for the self-satisfaction of blowing your brains out.” He responded, finger tightening across the trigger.

Before he could shoot, Elliot snapped his hand up and out into Bill’s abdomen, knocking the breath from the blonde and sending him stumbling. He then gripped Bill’s dominant hand and under and back – promptly breaking his wrist and forcing him to drop his weapon.

Picking up the gun Elliot fired two shots – one into Bill’s shoulder and the other just left of his heart. The pain was like a shock of cold water, or the sting of a hot iron pressing into his lungs. He could feel the warm blood filling his chest, the edges of his vision flashing white.

Still, he’d been a hired killer for far too long to let a little pain stop him, and he quickly lurched forward, slamming his head into Elliot’s and slamming the man backward into the floor.

Leaning down, he took his pistol back, coughing up a spatter of blood at the movement. He wiped the warm liquid from his chin with his good hand, before pointing his gun once again at Elliot as the other man got to his feet.

“Going to shoot me with your left hand, eh?” He spit, dark gaze once again meeting Bill’s.

“What can I say? It’s the benefit of being ambidextrous.” He retorted. Elliot sputtered, swaying slightly before straightening completely.

“You dumbass. If what you’re saying is true, and you’re here about that Pines kid, then don’t you know that the one who hired me is….?”

That’s when Bill shot him.

Five shots, the first hitting him in the stomach, the next making contact with the glass window behind him, the third embedding in his right leg, the fourth whizzing over his shoulder and erupting in a series of web like cracks, and the fifth making contact with his chest.

With every bullet that his Elliot was sent stumbling backward, his body jerking with each piece of medal that stuck him like a mallet. Finally his back hit the window with such force that it collapsed completely, and he found himself in midair over the busy New York streets.

And then there was the loud splat of flesh against asphalt followed by screams. Bill teetered on his feet, before collapsing to his knees, then hitting the ground. Blood bubbled past his lips, choking of his lungs and slowly drowning him. In the end, I wasn’t the bullet that was killing him, but his own blood.

How ironic.

With shaking fingers he reached into the breast pocket of his jacket, slowly pulling out the folded note he’d kept beside his heart for an entire year. Unfolding it he was meat with the chicken scratch of his partner’s hand writing – more like that of a child than a grown man.

The sight of it made Bill smile, before he sputtered again.

****************************

The funeral was held on January ninth, amidst the first snow of the New Year.

They lowered his coffin into the cold, frozen earth, its black lacquer surface covered in trailing with blue and white iris, deep cerulean azalea, and heady tufts of hydrangea. Bill watched on in silence, listening to the haunting weeping of Dipper’s sister as she watched on as her twin was laid deep within the earth. Her Uncle’s held her in an attempt to console her, but still she cried in shaking heaves, falling to the snowy earth in her grief.

Dipper’s family took turns throwing handfuls of dirt upon his coffin, and finally they got to digging.

Everyone else left. But Bill stayed behind.

He could still feel Dipper’s limp body, still feel as the warmth gradually left him.

Bill had never cried before, not until that day.

And after all the tears he’d shed, he had a feeling he’d never be able to cry again.

On that day, Dipper had given him a gift: a simple mahogany box.

“You can’t open it until the new year.” He said.

And then he had died in Bill’s arms.

He’d waited. He’d waited even though he wanted nothing more than to open it – to treasure this final gift from his beloved.

But what he’d found within brought him no solace.

Inside the box was a note, and a single, withering red camellia.

**************

Do you love me, Bill Cipher?

When I am alone, I find myself contemplating this question.

Or, more specifically, do you truly feel for me as I feel for you?

When you look at me, do you hate yourself, Bill?

When you look at me, do you want to die?

Mable woke up today. Three days in a coma and she woke up just as animated as ever. The nurses had to force her to stay in bed. I was so happy, Bill. I’ve never been so happy in my entire life. I wanted to hug her and hold her and never let her go. I wanted to cry from joy. I wanted to turn to you and kiss you.

And then I remembered.

I remembered looking at her pale face in the fluorescent lights of the hospital – more dead than alive – and I remembered asking you to do me a favor.

You once told me that assassins were just weapons – just tools used to complete a task. No better than a knife, or a gun or a rope, or a chain.

And when I saw his face on the TV screen, just an ordinary smiling man, it suddenly hit me what exactly you meant by that.

He had a family too, you know. A wife. Two kids.

He might’ve had a sister too, for all I knew, who loved him just as much as Mable loves me.

He’d just made a dumb mistake – deciding to drive with just one too many drinks. I wonder if his family worried about him that night, when he never came home. I wonder if his wife sat by the door, teary eyed, until she got a phone call the next morning when they found his body.

I wonder if she cried like I did when they realized they would never get to see him again.

Because I killed him Bill.

I murdered that man.

I love you, Bill Cipher.

And I have hated myself every day since I discovered that fact.

I’m weak, Bill. I’m afraid.

I’ve thought about killing myself before, but I just never could do it.

Not to Mable. Not to Stan and Ford.

But I could do it to you Bill. Because I love you.

So did the only thing I could think to do – I hired someone to do all the work for me. And now I am leaving you this note, so you know what happened.

I’m leaving you this note because I love you, Bill. ‘Everyone sees what you appear to be, few experience what you really are.’ right? But I want you to know, because I hope you will grow to hate me as I’ve grown to despise you.

As I’ve grown to despise myself.

I love you. Goodbye.

********************

“Freeze!” The police shouted, kicking open the door to the office. What they found was a gruesome scene, two bodies amidst a splattering of scarlet.

“Think this guy is the killer?” One of them asked, nodding to the body of the blonde lying face down on the ground, hand extended to his left and resting amidst a pile of ashes. The brunette knelt, gazing into that empty blue eye. Reaching out, the officer gently lowered his eyelid before getting to their feet.

“Deputy Mable?” the other asked, and the woman sniffed, wiping her eyes.

“Yeah. Looks like it, doesn’t it? Come on, we need to make was for the investigation.” She moved towards the door, chancing a final glance back at the scene before disappearing down the hallway.

********************

“You’re lucky I love flowers. And free food.” Dipper huffed, setting the vase of flowers upon the table before flopping onto the bed beside Bill.

“Look, I’m sorry I was gone so long. It was a big job, you know how it is. Someone has it out for a politician, or some other rich powerful nut…”

Dipper’s hand shot up, and he shook his head.

“We already discussed this. No talking about work when were together.” His voice softened, “Please, Bill.”

The blonde scooted forward, wrapping his arms around Dipper’s waist and pressing his forehead against the other man’s.

“Alright, I’ll stop.” He replied, pressing a chaste kiss against the other’s lips before sprinkling similar marks of affection on his nose, cheeks, and eyelids. Dipper giggled, attempting to push Bill away.

“Bill, stop!” He keened, and after a quick peck to his forehead Bill obeyed.

“What? I just wanted you to know I missed you.” He said innocently. Dipper rolled his eyes, punching the blonde roughly in the chest.

“Yeah right, you bastard.” They settled into holding one another, Bill enjoying the feeling of Dipper’s heart thudding against him and Dipper relaxing into the slow rise and fall of the other man’s chest.

“Do you know what Camellia’s mean, Pine tree?” Bill asked after a moment, and Dipper shifted to look up at him.

“Are you actually going to give me a lecture on the language of flowers, Bill? Because that is pretty fucking cheesy.” Bill smirked, kissing Dipper’s forehead.

“You know you love it.” He stated, and Dipper sighed.

“I do, and it is utterly despicable.” He settled back against Bill’s chest. “So what do they mean?”

“Well, here, they mean the flame of the heart. It’s like saying ‘you are the light of my life’. But interestingly enough, red is the color of death in Japan, and as a result it has the connotation of death there.”

“I’m…flattered?” Dipper offered, before snorting.

“At least, that’s what the lady behind the counter said when I bought them. I just thought they looked extravagant.” Bill finished, and Dipper snorted.

“I should have known.” He stated, before reaching over the other man and turning off the light.

“G’night.” He murmured, warmth breath against Bill’s neck. The blonde rolled over, kissing the top of Dipper’s head fondly and gazing at his face in the silvery moonlight before huffing as Dipper shoved his knee into Bill’s groin.

“Stop staring, you idiot.” Dipper groaned.

“I love you.” He offered, and Dipper snuggled closer to him.

“I love you too.”

**Author's Note:**

> I am so sorry for this mess. It wasn't 1) originally meant to be this long, and 2) meant to be a billdip week fic. And yet here we are.  
> Thank you so much for reading this awful piece of trash, and now go eat some chocolate. You deserve it.


End file.
